Of Chaos
by enjoiturbulence
Summary: Jim and Pam and a human manifestation of chaos. Spoilers from The Return. Some language, slight violence.Warning: I do not own the Office or any featured characters. Further, the characters not featured in the Office, well, they belong to me.


**Of Chaos**

_Warning: I do not now, nor have I ever had any relationship with South American drug cartels or Eastern European AND/OR Southeast Asian human traffickers. That stuff is just wrong. You know what else is wrong? Thinking I have any involvement with NBC or its parent companies, or that I have any claims of ownership to the characters featured on the hit show, The Office. Please, Mr. Gervais, don't sue me. _**  
**

So here's the thing about the universe and how it operates: pure fucking chaos. All of creation is simply chaos and anarchy, from the big, right down to the small.

You've heard about that butterfly in the Mojave desert that will flap his wings but once and that motion will cause a monstrous storm system to develop around southeast Asia, killing thousands. That's chaos, friend, and it encapsulates the pure and unrelenting hell that is life in this silly little universe.

Especially in the paper business.

After five days of their lives gone into the ether, five at night on Friday came and the office began to empty with an unsurprising speed. The cameras watched everything, from Michael having left thirty minutes early, to the subtle moment between Angela and Dwight on the elevator ride down where their hands just barely touched, to Karen leaving fast, not waiting for Jim. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot and the cameraman, he tried to keep a respectful distance as he followed to her car.

Oscar was picked up at the door by his Gil in plain sight of said cameras and his coworkers. There was a moment of hesitation but with three months worth of time to adjust, he was just glad to see his man again. The first day back had been trying, but not altogether unpleasant.

And so it came that the last two people in the office that did not have several thousand dollars worth of audio and visual equipment were Jim and Pam. Jim was sitting at his desk looking at the blank computer screen and Pam was looking at him from her own desk. The cameraman, he watched everything in silence.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"She asked about me and you."

"Guess we shouldn't have messed with Andy," was the only thing she could say that wouldn't cause her to completely breakdown at that moment.

"In a way, I think it was worth it."

"What way is that?" At her question, Jim merely turned in his chair to the gaping hole in the wall between Michael's office and the conference room. The phone was still in the ceiling. Jim considered briefly going up for it but the feeling in his gut, the hollow feeling that comes to good people when they realize they're not quite as good as they thought they were, and he thought, "To hell with the phone." He didn't think he could answer her question.

Through years of monkish-training, Jim swallowed what he wouldn't until later realize he didn't have to swallow. He simply laughed a fake laugh that neither of them bought, stood from his chair and walked over to the coat rack.

"I really hate to ask this," he started, "but she was my ride."

"It's the least I could do," she said, a small but genuine smile spreading over her lips. They made a mutual, unspoken promise to each other at that moment.

They took the elevator down in silence, and walked past the security desk, nodding at Hank as they went. Outside, the parking lot was empty except for Pam's blue Toyota. They had crossed half the distance between the door and her car when the concept of chaos was personified in their lives.

A thin, tall man with brown hair that could only have been self-cut jogged before them. He had the look of a dog that had lost its scent in the rain. The two details of his person that stuck out immediately were the red splatter on his plain, white shirt, and the revolver that was pointed in their direction.

The cameraman who had been following their path from inside the first floor ducked down below the window and thanked God the two of them had left their microphones on.

"I really hate to do this, guys, but I'm going to have to take up some of your time." Sirens could be heard in the distance. Instinctively, Jim put an arm around Pam and made sure he was in front of her. The movement was noticed.

"Look, you can have our money," Jim said. "Please, don't hurt her."

"You two do exactly as I say, no one will be hurt. I'm going to need the two of you to escort me back up into your office building." He made a jerking motion with the gun towards the door and they turned around, Jim again putting his body between the gun and Pam.

Inside the building, the man turned the gun on Hank. "You already pressed the alarm button, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir'. Go wait for the police outside." Hank did as he was told. "You two, what floor do you work on?"

"The second," Jim said. The man pressed the Up button on the elevator and stood there. When he saw the tears silently falling down Pam's cheeks, he sighed.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I swear."

"Why are you doing this?" Pam asked.

"Hostages slow down angry police," he said when the elevator opened. He motioned again with the gun and the two of them entered and went to the far corner. The man stood in the opposite corner and pressed the button for the second floor.

"Why are the police angry?" Pam asked.

"They usually get that way when you shoot one of their buddies. Lord knows I would be."

"Listen, mister," Jim started, but the man with the gun quickly interrupted.

"I know the two of you are scared, and really, I shouldn't have told you that, but I just need you guys to keep them at bay while I think. I just need to think." The elevator door opened and he motioned for them to exit first. "Nice office," he said.

He pulled up a chair, Jim's, and asked them to sit on the leather couch beside Pam's desk. They complied. Neither of them noticed how they held each other's hand, the gun was taking up all their attention.

"What's your name?" Pam asked.

"Nick."

"It's nice to meet you, Nick," she added.

"I'm really sorry to scare you guys, I hope you can believe that. The last thing I want to do is scare or hurt anyone. Things are crazy and I just need to think."

"Why did you kill a cop?" Jim asked.

"Because it was him or me and, irony of all fucking ironies, now it appears my survival instinct is going to kill me. Third strike, you know. Sure, it was a random stop. How the hell could he have known I was holding? Why the fuck was I holding? Why?" Nick muttered to himself. "So, third strike, another drug charge, and it was 25 to life looking at me, not a cop, not an actual person who probably had a kid or two to raise, a wife at home whose sole job was to raise those kids while he went out and tried to keep fucking scum like me off the street and why'd I have to go and do that?" He stopped and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, still holding the revolver. "You guys mind if I smoke?"

They shook their heads in the negative. With the hand not holding the gun he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With a shaking hand he pulled out

"I shouldn't have done it, I know. I shouldn't have been holding, but I needed that stuff, you know? If I could have sold that, I could have a little something for my own kid. Now I went and fucked his life up to. Son of a cop killer." His own tears started falling. "Can I ask you guys a question?" Neither Jim nor Pam said anything. He took their silence as an invitation. "You guys a couple? You seem close."

"No," Jim said. "I actually broke up with my girlfriend today."

"Damn. Tough day," Nick joked. It got a chuckle out of Jim and Pam smiled weakly. The fear was not as intense as it had been.

"That's the one thing I'm going to regret, that I was never actually in love with anyone." Suddenly the phone at Pam's desk started ringing, and they all realized the formula for how hostage situations went down was beginning to unfold. Pam rose to get the phone. Nick didn't stop her.

"Hello." She paused, listening. "We're fine. Just the two of us. He hasn't hurt us. Pam Beesly and Jim Halpert. They want to let you know, they don't negotiate."

"I know," Nick responded. Something shifted in his eyes, and the tears stopped flowing. He opened the magazine of the revolver and let the bullets drop to the floor. One of the casings was empty. He picked out one of the bullets and put in back in the gun, closing the magazine and giving it a spin before letting it set. "They're probably right outside that door there," he said, pointing the gun at the main entrance. "I'm sorry to take up your time."

"We can talk to them for you," Jim said. "We testify on your behalf, or something." Pam had a questioning look to her face before she realized what Jim was talking about, what this man's intentions were.

"Shit, man, it's only been ten minutes. Usually takes a bit longer for the Stockholm syndrome to set in."

"You don't have to do this," Pam begged.

"Get out of here. Tell them I'll be waiting. I've got a little game to play."

"Please," Pam whispered. She put the phone down in it's place and went back around to Jim, who put an arm around her.

"Promise me this one, simply thing," Nick said.

"Of course," Jim replied.

"Anything," Pam said.

"Don't forget to fall in love. You only live once, and you don't want to look back at the end and see an empty heart."

"Please," Pam pleaded.

"Go."

With no more words, Jim and Pam turned and walked through to the corridor. In the silence before they saw the SWAT team, a simple clicking could be heard. It sounded once, twice, and then the gun fired. It didn't sound like what either of them imagined a gun going off would sound like.

One officer escorted them down through the stairwell, asking if they were alright. They simply nodded. Pam had started sobbing. Jim wiped away the tears on his face.

The officer led them outside where the world was chaos, cop cars and ambulances and news vans and several of their coworkers gathered in with the random onlookers trying to figure out what was going on. No one outside heard the gunshot. The officer took them to a police cruiser and asked them to sit in the back until things quieted down and they could be debriefed.

Neither of them had ever been in a cop car before, much less in the backseat of one. Jim put his arm around Pam and pulled her into him. She spent five minutes crying into his chest. When she could no longer cry, she looked up into Jim's eyes. He leaned down and their lips softly met. The camera's, they saw this.

So, here's the thing about the universe: it might be chaotic, but it's not cruel. Indifferent, maybe, but not cruel. Things happen because that's the only way they can. The chaos is perfectly ordered, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Everything is as it must be.

That butterfly, it had to flap its wings.


End file.
